Eighteen Again
by emmawantsawarbler
Summary: Blaine had it planned for the last six months. November 11, 2010. The day he dies. There was nothing left for him. His existence was pointless. But a strange encounter at a coffee shop he frequents and a promise of eighteen days just might make him change his mind. (TW: suicide/drug abuse, family violence. Proceed with caution.) HIATUS
1. Chapter 1

**Eighteen Again**

 _Chapter One_

It was a set plan. On November 11, Blaine would die. He had the pills, he had the lock on his door. Everything would go swimmingly. Or at least as swimmingly as you can get when you're a teen who plans to kill himself and has that plan fully developed. There was nothing left for him. His father could care less about him, and his mother left when things got too intense for her. She was a coward for that. Blaine stayed, he took the abuse that his mom didn't even see; she up and left him right before things really got bad. The last he'd heard of her was that she got hitched with some accountant in Fresno. Blaine was stuck in Ohio. His mother was well out of the picture. The problem with his father was that he used to be so loving, but then something went wrong, and one beer became two and then three then seven then countless bottles on the floor, some shattered over Blaine's head. Blaine should've seen it coming; he should've begged his mom to take him with her when he had the chance, but no. He had hope in his dad; well, young and naive Blaine, look where that got you now. There wasn't hope. People were assholes.

Blaine had long ago guessed that the something that went wrong was him coming out as gay, but he didn't believe it until he was nursing his wounds: a generous amount of bruises on his ribs and the word "fag" implanted permanently in his brain. So much for trust. There was nothing left for Blaine in this world. No one cared about him; he went to a school filled with homophobes and kids drunk off of social status, a mother that didn't deserve such a title, and the shell of a man who used to be his father. He'd gotten used to it, he supposed, but could someone really get used to abuse?

The Sun was high and bright when Blaine carefully stepped out of the dingy apartment he and his father had. They used to have it all; his father had been an attorney, and his mother was a dentist. But when the drinking had gotten out of hand and his mother had left, the money went down the drain, wasted on booze and cigarettes. Blaine had tried to stop. He'd hide the money, and when his father would ask, he'd swear he'd never touched it, but then his father would unbuckle his belt and slide it out of the loops, and it was in those moments that Blaine knew he was living a losing war. So he stopped trying. It became clear that his father gave no regards to him anymore, and Blaine was causing more trouble than preventing it, so he just stopped. And now, there they were. In a crummy apartment that was more or less falling apart; the electricity cut out at random, and sometimes the piping stopped working. But Blaine was fine. He had grown used to that. He was used to getting used to things. That's all he did. But he was so sick of it, so November 11 became a thing. And now, every day was just one step closer to death, and he couldn't have cared less. He didn't care, he realised when he noticed that the date was November ninth.

He walked briskly to the edge of the parking lot before turning around, eyes raking over the building he resided. A frown took over his face, and he pivoted quickly, beginning to make his way out of the lot. He broke into a sprint when he had gained some distance between him and the apartment. The route he was taking was familiar. He was heading to a small cafe that people usually ignored for the coffee shop in the middle of the city. He never bought anything from the place, but the people didn't bother him, so he spent most of his time there.

Despite the Sun being out, there was a chill in the air that nipped at Blaine's nose. When he entered the cafe, he was thankful for the fact that the inside was warm. He immediately took his place at a chair in the corner of the room. The barista had looked up when he walked in, but upon seeing who it was, they promptly looked down and continued cleaning the counter. Blaine gazed out the window, eyes locked on a tree. Its leaves had abandoned it, some of them still twirling down to the ground in a secret waltz that only nature knew. He rested his chin on his palm carefully, gaze still settled on the tree. It stood there, and Blaine wondered how old it was. He was still stuck in his pondering when the feeling of someone tapping his shoulder yanked him back into reality. He tore his stare away from the tree and found himself looking at a boy dressed to the nines, hair coiffed, and looking generally uncomfortable. A smile made its way onto the boy's face, though, when he saw Blaine looking at him. "Hi," he said, voice high, "do you mind if I sit with you?" He motioned to the empty chair next to Blaine. "My name is Kurt by the way."

Blaine blinked at him before nodding and motioning to the chair. "Blaine."

Kurt froze, halfway in the chair. "What was that?"

"My name," Blaine explained. "My name is Blaine."

There was a pause before Kurt laughed and set his cup down on the table in front of them. "Oh, like _Pretty in Pink_."

Blaine nodded again and watched as Kurt adjusted himself in the chair. He continued to watch for a second more before turning to look back out the window.

"What's got your attention out there?" Kurt's voice interrupted his tree-watching.

Blaine shrugged.

"You seem pretty intrigued by that tree," Kurt observed, and Blaine turned to see Kurt looking out the window too, glasz eyes locked on the tree. "Do you usually come here to stare at trees?"

Blaine knew it was a joke, but he answered anyways: "Yes." He faced Kurt fully. "How old is it? Do trees know when they're going to die?"

Kurt's gaze shifted to land on Blaine. "You brought out the big questions quick."

They stared at each other before Blaine spoke. "That sort of happens when you have two days left to live."

"Oh my God," Kurt said, voice quiet, hands flying up to cover his mouth, "are you sick?" He froze when he realised what he said. "Oh my God," he repeated. "I'm so sorry."

Blaine shook his head. "It's fine. And no. Nothing ends Blaine but the man himself."

If anything, that made Kurt tense up more. "So you're going to…?" His voice had grown smaller as the question was being asked. "But why?"

Blaine laughed, a cruel, unforgiving bark. "When you've got a deadbeat dad and no mom, the world doesn't seem so great. And no one pays attention to the resident gay at a school filled with homophobic jerks."

Kurt nodded. "I can sympathize, but, Blaine, do you really think no one cares?"

"I feel pretty safe when I say yes," Blaine responded. "I've got it all planned out and everything. It'll be quick, and no one will know that I'm gone. It's not like I show up at school half of the time." He leaned back in his chair and stared at Kurt, amber eyes cold.

"Eighteen days," Kurt breathed when he realized Blaine was done speaking.

Blaine raised a brow.

"Give me eighteen days," Kurt repeated. "Give me eighteen days to make you realize that life can be okay. And is it safe to assume you go to McKinley?" Blaine nodded. "Well then, Blaine, I feel very safe when I say you're not the only out gay there. Maybe you should show up for a change. I'll even meet you at your locker or something. I don't care. Just give me eighteen days."

Blaine stared at him apprehensively. "Why?"

"Trust me," Kurt pushed on, determined. "It's just eighteen days, but I promise you, Blaine, I promise you that I'll show you life's worth it. Please."

Blaine sighed. Why not give the teen his fun? "Fine," he agreed. "I'll give you eighteen days. But if nothing changes, if you don't lead me to some big epiphany, I'm going through with my original plan. There'll have just been a small delay."

Kurt's eyes were wide, and Blaine wanted to laugh at the way he bounced up and down in the chair. "Eighteen days, Blaine. That's all I need."

A genuine smile settled on Blaine's face as Kurt bit his bottom lip and tapped his feet quickly on the ground.

"Eighteen days."

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any characters that seem to be associated with the television series _Glee_ belong to the show's producers, directors and the actors portraying the characters. (Mainly Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, portrayed by Chris Colfer and Darren Criss.)

I don't know if this'll be a long story or not. I sort of know where I want this to go. There's enough of an idea to the point that I can get to the ending, but the middle is still soft. And if I don't stop now that'll turn into a baking analogy, so I'm most definitely going to stop. Anyways, clearly, this contains some triggers. (Mainly suicide/drug abuse.) If you're not comfortable with that, you probably shouldn't read this. I can't guarantee how deeply this will go into the topic of suicide, but there is still a chance it can get pretty intense. If you're nervous but think you can handle that, please proceed with caution. I don't want any attacks of any kind to occur because of my story, so please be careful, and if things do get hard, take a break, or just stop reading the story altogether.

If you're okay with any mentions or possible written depictions of suicide, I hope you enjoy this story. Happy holidays! xx

Emma Wants a Warbler


	2. Chapter 2

**Eighteen Again**

 _Chapter Two_

Things were fairly quiet after that, the only sounds being Kurt sipping his coffee and the soft clinking of mugs as they were placed on the shelves. Blaine was no longer interested in the tree, and his gaze had yet to move from Kurt's face. The planes of his face appeared to be smooth and soft, the tone a nice ivory color. A few strands of hair had fallen in his face, and every once in awhile Kurt would reach up and brush them away, nose scrunched up in annoyance. The slope of his nose was straight, but the tip was vaguely button-shaped, and some small part of Blaine wanted to reach out a finger to poke it. That small part was the same part that made him want to tack on a few more days of life when he first came up with his suicide plan. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them again, gaze once again focussing on Kurt. He watched as the teen brought his mug up to his lips, and he watched as said lips puckered to blow at the hot drink in an attempt to make it cooler. Kurt looked up then, and they locked gazes.

Blaine frowned.

"Hey," Kurt whispered.

Blaine wanted to ignore him, but instead he merely whispered a greeting back.

Kurt smiled softly, obviously choosing to disregard the expression on the other boy's face, and tucked another loose strand behind his ear before taking a sip from his drink. He blinked before removing the cup from his lips. "Do you want something to drink? I just realized you don't have one."

Blaine glanced up at the menu above the barista's head. "Um, medium drip?" He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "Sorry, I just … I'm not used to this."

"It's fine. And if you don't like it, no problem. I'll get you a different one," Kurt still wore that smile. Blaine could feel the protest growing, but Kurt was already standing, setting his cup down and stretching slightly, lithe body on display. Blaine licked his lips and looked back at the tree.

"Thanks."

Kurt nodded and sashayed up to the counter. "Hi. Sorry to bother you. It's just that my friend over there would like to try a medium drip. Thanks." Blaine watched as the other teen grinned at the barista and leaned against the counter. The coffee was quickly made and passed to Kurt who thanked him again and slid him a five dollar bill. "Keep the change." He carefully lifted the mug and began to make his way over to Blaine. When he got back to his seat, he handed the other teen the drink. "One medium drip for Blaine."

Blaine took a nervous sip before shooting Kurt a grateful smile. "Thanks, Kurt. And it's very good."

They shared a cautious grin before focusing on their respective drinks.

"So," Blaine leaned forward, "what do these eighteen days entail?"

Kurt set down his cup and arched a brow. "Why should I tell you? No. The next eighteen days are going to be great and full of surprises."

"Really?"

The only response was a mischievous curl of the lips behind a cup.

That look kept him going as he anxiously led Kurt to the parking lot of the apartments. He stopped at the entrance, holding out an arm in a signal for Kurt to stop. "So this is where I live." The statement lacked any grandeur, and most definitely any pride or dignity. "Home, horrible home." He stared at Kurt as the boy inspected the run-down building and mangy lot, and his heart beat nervously in his chest as he waited for some type of response. When he didn't receive one, he began to point at the door that signified where he lived. "That's where I stay. A2. So great, huh?" He glared down at the torn up cement under his shoes.

"Blaine," the look Kurt was giving him when Blaine met his eyes was sympathetic, Blaine hated it, "you don't have to be embarrassed. I get that your situation isn't entirely ideal."

"No," Blaine said, tone irritated, "I'm not embarrassed, and I don't need your sympathy."

Kurt took a step back and held his hands up. "Okay. I'm sorry I offended you, but why would you be mad about that?"

Blaine gave him a tired look. "I'm not ready to disclose that yet."

Kurt stayed silent.

"Okay, look, it's obvious you're not going to back out of your ridiculous eighteen days thing, so now you know where to find me. I don't have a phone, so you'll just have to come here if you have to talk. Or go to where we met. I go there a lot."

"But you never get anything?" Kurt asked, eyebrows furrowed.

Blaine closed his eyes. "I believe it was you who said you get that my 'situation isn't entirely ideal'? That includes money."

Kurt frowned, but once again remained silent, opting to look at the building instead of Blaine.

"So yeah. That's all. See you, Kurt," he gave a pathetic wave to the boy who wasn't even looking at him before beginning to make his way to the small apartment.

"Wait," Kurt's voice broke the heavy quiet that settled around them, "you're leaving me, just like that?"

"That's what I do best. Tomorrow, remember?"

"But that was before…," Kurt trailed off, meeting Blaine's hard gaze.

"Still not that different," Blaine shrugged. "It's my life. I can put myself on the edge like that whenever I want. You're just delaying the process."

"I never said you have to agree with me, Blaine," Kurt's voice was firm. "That means that you still have some hope to live."

Blaine froze, but he shook himself out of it before Kurt could realize something was wrong. "Maybe you're not as good at reading people as you think," and with that, he turned and made his way to his home, leaning against the door and accepting the blows from his father as soon as he made it inside.

He could end it all whenever he wanted.

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any characters that seem to be associated with the television series _Glee_ belong to the show's producers, directors and the actors portraying the characters. (Mainly Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, portrayed by Chris Colfer and Darren Criss.)

Hey, guys! Hope any of you who celebrate it had a great Christmas. :) Mine went very okay. I got some pretty great things, and the clothes I got were amazing. I had picked most out myself earlier in the year when I went shopping with family, but I had forgotten that we purchased them until I was opening the package and _oh, yeah, that's a thing._

Anyways, I'm sorry this was a lot of dialogue and generally boring, and I'm sorry if the tone sort of shifted at random. The last couple of days have been very weird and mood-dampening and overall tiring. Hopefully chapter three will be wonderful and plot-filled and interesting, but it might take some time to write.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed or favorited or followed! It was very exciting to see I got a response. Can't wait to get started on chapter three! xx

Emma Wants a Warbler


	3. Chapter 3

**Eighteen Again**

 _Chapter Three_

When Blaine awoke the next morning, it was to the sound of a crash in the small, rarely used kitchen. Ignoring the throbbing ache in his ribs, he leapt out of bed, rushing into the room to find his dad splayed on the ground. Ice and broken beer bottles surrounded him, the liquid seeping into his clothes and spreading on the ground. Blaine cursed and scurried around the mess to grab a towel. His father was shaking as Blaine helped him up. Blaine silently berated himself in his head. He could've left him there. It was obvious the old man hardly got any sleep, eyes rimmed red and clearly bloodshot, the aftermath of drinking one too many shots of tequila. He was already drunk off his ass, and Blaine could've left him there, helpless on the ground, unable to shout because no one would help. Blaine learned that from personal experience.

He wasn't thanked for helping the drunkard up. He was merely spat at before being left alone to clean up the growing puddle of rapidly melting ice and alcohol, shards of glass starting to creep dangerously close to his bare feet.

A disgruntled noise broke free from his throat, and he took a careful step backwards before getting on his knees and picking up the first few large pieces of the broken bottles. He was nearly finished with everything, surprisingly with minimal injury aside from a long cut down his arm that he knew he couldn't leave open and untreated (he acquired it when his left hand slipped from the towel, and he came tumbling down, running his arm along a particularly sharp piece of glass), when a bottle came flying over his head. Blaine attempted to shield the back of his neck by bringing up his shoulders, but he still winced and let out a hiss when he felt the little pinpricks of thousands of tiny pieces of glass come in contact with his back. He knew they weren't actually hurting him. There wouldn't be any obvious problems aside from a sting that would last for a couple minutes.

Awkwardly, Blaine stood. The small tinkling sound of pieces of glass hitting the floor causing him to stealthily move out of the kitchen. He stared at the new decorations of brown glass and red paint. He remained for a short amount of time before heading into his tiny bedroom, slipping off his dirty shirt in the process. After attempting to see the state of his back, he assessed the cut on his arm. It needed to be taken care of, but treatment wasn't immediately needed. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the scar that would be left there. It was inevitable.

Opening his eyes once more, he stared down at the blood gathering at the surface. He dismissed the urge to run a finger through it and quietly made his way out of the apartment. He could see his dad in his own bedroom, rummaging around most likely for some cigarettes. Blaine scrunched up his nose and turned away, exiting the building with his head down, but his eyes flicked back and forth, taking in his surroundings. He trusted no one.

He did stumble, however, when he saw bright glasz eyes and designer clothes. "Kurt," he breathed. "No, no, no. This isn't happening." He couldn't retreat back to the apartment. Kurt had seen him. And he wasn't going back to that hellhole. Then he remembered his arm. "Oh God, no." He mumbled the word to himself as he hid his wounded arm behind his back. He ran his other hand down the cut, wincing at the sting and the warm wetness coating his hand. It wasn't too much, but it was still there. It made him nauseous. Before he knew it, he was standing in front of the boy he met yesterday who gave him a promise of eighteen days and something akin to hope, no matter how much Blaine denied it.

"Kurt, hi," Blaine said, eyes looking anywhere but the boy in front of him.

"Blaine, I'm so glad I caught you," Kurt started, a relieved smile taking over his face. "When I didn't see you at the cafe, I thought you were probably here." He smiled, but it dropped when Blaine didn't return it. "Um, I have a plan, I swear. I just … wow. This is really awkward compared to yesterday, and just … yeah. Wow." He fell silent and stared at the ground.

"Kurt," Blaine sighed, exasperation clear on his face, "look: it's great that you're doing this, really, but you don't have to. No one cares about me, and that's that. Just walk away now. Don't give me or any of this a second thought. Everything is set up anyways. You know this."

"I do," Kurt agrees, "but that's why I'm doing this. That's why I made the proposition, Blaine. And I care. I'm not giving up that easily. Because I am painfully aware that you could just turn around and go back into that apartment and kill yourself, whether it be today or tomorrow. That's why I'm not giving up on this—why I'm not giving up on _you_ , Blaine.

"And this might be a lot to take in, the fact that oh," he said, voice filled with fake shock and wonder, "someone actually cares about you, someone actually gives a damn about what happens to you, but it's true. I care about you, and that's not going to change."

One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The time dragged on before Blaine stated something he should've known from the beginning. "You're really stubborn, did you know that?"

Kurt gave a relieved laugh. "Of course I am. You need someone who can make you see that you matter … who will make you see that you matter."

Blaine sighed and began to walk, nodding his head forward to show Kurt to follow, arm still hidden dutifully behind his back. He could deal with it later. "Kurt, I don't need anyone. I'm used to loneliness. That's how I live."

"And look where that got you: with a date and a plan for your death," Kurt's tone was flat. It was the most emotionless Blaine had ever heard Kurt sound. He stopped walking to stare at the teen. Kurt sighed and continued: "Blaine, have you ever stopped to consider that letting someone in wouldn't be so bad?"

"No one has ever wanted to be let in," Blaine murmured quietly, more to himself than Kurt. He knew the other boy had heard anyways. He looked up at him. "Sometimes you get so used to something that it becomes the only thing there is. All other ways of life disappear and leave behind only what you know, and it never changes. At first it's a bit unsettling, but then you get used to it. It doesn't matter how bad that life is, all that matters is that it's the only one."

The only sound after that was their breathing and the rustle of leaves on the trees.

Finally Kurt spoke: "I just don't get it, Blaine. Maybe it's because I haven't been in a situation like yours or maybe it's because I'm just some naive kid, but I don't understand why you can't just get that I'm trying to help you."

"I don't need your help. I don't need any help from anyone," Blaine protested. "Loneliness is comfiness."

"But it shouldn't be, Blaine," Kurt argued. "You should be feeling cheated. You should be feeling angry at life for giving you this crappy way to live. You should be getting aggravated and going out, trying to find a life on your own."

"And do you think I don't know this? You think I haven't tried that?" Blaine practically growled. "Kurt, I don't think _you_ get it!" At that, Kurt shrunk back, like a child reprimanded by a parent. "I still have to take care of myself, so I can't just waltz out of this shitty as hell life to go party and make out with guys in dark rooms! And I can't just go get a job. It's a lot harder than that, Kurt. The world is a fucked up place, and some of us end up more like it than others. I'm one of those. And I have things that I need to keep to myself. And maybe that's because no one else is willing to listen, or maybe it's because I just can't. I can't trust people. When being alone is all you've ever known, you're bound to feel suspicious and confused and uncomfortable when someone suddenly barges in literally two days before you're about to off yourself with some pills and maybe a broken bottle if you're desperate and tells you that you won't want to die after living eighteen more days with them in your life! That's pretty weird, don't you think?" Kurt opened his mouth, but Blaine carried on: "I hate sounding cliche, but you hardly know me, Kurt. You don't know what I've been through, what I've seen, what I've lived. You know practically nothing about me other than the fact that I was going to die tomorrow before your silly little promise. I'd be lying, dead, in my room right around this time, you know. I'd have downed the pills and be gone. Think about that, Kurt. Think about it."

Kurt's face was a bright scarlet. "What do you think I've been doing all night, Blaine?" he burst out, voice shrill and anger evident on his delicate features. "Ever since you disappeared behind that door yesterday, it's all I could think about. I just kept and still keep seeing the image of you lying there or even hanging, and I just…. It makes me sick, Blaine, to think you'd even contemplate it. Things could get better."

Blaine barked out a laugh. "Better? Kurt, look around you. This is all I have!"

"You have me!" Kurt yelled.

"Sure," Blaine refrained from rolling his eyes. "What about before that though? When it was just me and misery? I had nothing, Kurt. Nothing. I still don't because one day you'll leave like every possible good thing. And I'm sure you know that." He inspected the other boy. "You want to go to college, don't you?"

Kurt sniffed, clearly confused by the sudden topic change yet not questioning it. "In New York. For music and the arts. I also want to audition for Broadway."

Blaine nodded. "Alright. So there's you, this bright, beautiful boy with hopes and dreams and ambition, and then there's me. Me with my corpse of a dad, an inconsequential life, and inconsequential existence. Kurt, I'm an obstacle. As soon as the eighteen days pass and you see that I'm fine, you might stay for a bit, just to be sure I'm not going to immediately go and kill myself, but then what? You're not going to put your dreams on hold for me."

Kurt shook his head. "You're not an obstacle, Blaine." He avoided the last sentence, and both of them knew it.

Blaine sighed and stared the other boy straight in the eyes, amber on apatite. "Kurt, I'm an obstacle, and when you find a way to pass me, you're going to do it without a second thought."

"No, you're not. And when our eighteen days are over, you'll make up your mind, and if you stay alive, I'm never letting go. No matter what."

"There's no guarantee I'll want to live."

"If you still go through with your plan, it'll hurt, but in the end, it's your decision, and I can't stop you. But I'll be damned if I don't try," Kurt held Blaine's gaze. A frown was etched into Blaine's face. Kurt frowned back. "Fine then. If you think that I only see you as a roadblock, so be it. Let me have my fun for now. If that's how you see it."

"Kurt...," Blaine shook his head.

"No, Blaine," Kurt said, voice shaky and so different from how it sounded just a few seconds ago, "I think I am starting to get it now. I should see you as nothing more than an inkspill on my essay, a piece of gum on the bottom of my shoe, a waste of space. I have no idea why you're so adamant on me believing that, but I get that you want me to."

"Kurt, no," and Blaine was annoyed because he practically repeated Kurt, but he stopped ignored it and carried on, "you just … you don't understand that I can't just open up and tell you everything, and I can't just stop wanting to die, nor can I just turn off the occasional urge to just go and end it all right then and there." He let out a breath. "You're starting to just be overdramatic."

"Right," Kurt rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm not giving up, you know. You are going to deal with more for eighteen days, and you're going to be so damn happy that you'll want to live for eighteen million more."

Blaine scoffed. "Sure. You know, if the rest of the days end up at all like this one, I won't even come close to hesitating when I have that bottle in my hand. This day just turned out swimmingly."

Kurt scrunched up his nose and pointed at the Sun. "For as long as that thing is up and bright, the day is not over. I'm not done with you yet. You are going to have a great day with me, and you're going to love it."

With a groan, Blaine threw his arms out in front of him. "When will you just give up?"

He was waiting for some witty, quick remark from the other boy, so when he didn't get one, he was pretty panicked. Then he remembered: he still had the cut.

Blaine's eyes flew from his exposed arm to Kurt's face. The taller boy's eyes were blown wide, eyebrows raised, mouth open. He was a perfect picture of shock. "Oh God," Blaine said, "I'm so sorry, Kurt. I wasn't thinking, and I just…. The argument was getting out of hand, and I was getting annoyed, and then I just do that, and oh God, I'm so, so, so sorry."

Kurt shook his head. "No," he stuttered, "it's fine, Blaine." A pale hand closed around Blaine's wrist, and Blaine looked up into concerned eyes. He looked away quickly; Kurt's hand remained wrapped around his wrist. "How long have you had this?"

"Since this morning," Blaine couldn't meet Kurt's eyes again. He could feel the question hanging in the air around them. "Something happened, and glass was on the floor, and I slipped and cut it. I was going to treat it later."

"Blaine," Kurt said softly, "you should've said something."

"It wasn't important. It isn't important," Blaine insisted.

Kurt sighed. "Blaine … you need to get rid of this quickness to degrade yourself and ignore basic needs." Blaine opened his mouth to protest, he ate and got water, he had a home, but Kurt continued: "And I understand that it will take some getting used to, but just try to open up a bit more. Please, Blaine. You don't even have to tell me everything."

Their gazes met, and they stayed locked for the next few seconds. Eventually Blaine gave in. "My dad. He knocked the cooler over and slipped. Bottles broke, ice everywhere. I helped him up and started cleaning. My hand slipped, and this cut happened. Not too complicated."

"There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" Kurt questioned.

"Kurt," Blaine shook his head, "it's a start. Accept that. You wanted something; I gave you something."

There was silence before Kurt nodded. "Okay. Okay, that's fine. This is fine." His hand slipped from Blaine's wrist to his palm. "Thank you for telling me."

Blaine tensed at the contact. It was one thing to hold someone's wounded arm, but their hand? There was a hidden intimacy at that. One that Blaine wasn't sure he was ready to face. He nodded and cleared his throat. "Yeah."

Kurt dropped his hand. "We need to do something about your arm. C'mon, we can use the shop's bathroom? That's not too far away, right?"

Blaine nodded silently.

They walked in silence to the cafe.

The barista didn't even bat an eyelash when they entered.

In the restroom, Kurt carefully inspected the long cut. He winced. "And you just leave it?"

Blaine shrugged. "It's nothing. I've had worse. It's not even that deep. Really, it's not," he added at Kurt's disbelieving look. "Here, just—," using his free hand, he took some soap and water and began to clean the cut himself. Kurt visibly blanched. Blaine bit down on his lip at the sting of the soap disinfecting the injury. At Kurt's nervous look, Blaine shook his head. "Kurt, it's fine. I'm sure you know what a scratch feels like."

"Yeah, but that's all it is," Kurt argued, "a scratch. Not a three inch cut that will leave a scar." He stopped Blaine's hand from where it was working on his arm and replaced it with his own.

"Kurt," Blaine closed his eyes as Kurt began to copy his ministrations, "you're being ridiculous. Don't worry about it so much."

Kurt paused. "No. I'll worry as much as I want." He resumed his work before stopping. "Do you have anything to put pressure on this? I don't want to use toilet paper."

"Use toilet paper."

Kurt groaned and leaned over to pull some off of the stand. "Only because it's available."

Blaine snorted and leaned back against the wall as Kurt wrapped the toilet paper around his arm, covering the cut. He placed his hand over it when Kurt finished. A silence had settled over them. Blaine broke it with a soft, "thank you."

Kurt stared at him before a small smile took over his lips. "You're welcome. Well, now that we're here, why don't we get a coffee?"

"Kurt, you know I don't have any money."

"Forget about that. I'll pay again."

"Kurt, no."

"Kurt, yes," Kurt put his hand over Blaine's mouth when the boy tried to speak again. "Now stop trying to argue with the Unmovable Kurt Hummel, and join me in the pleasure of getting a coffee."

Blaine rolled his eyes, and Kurt removed his hand. "Fine."

At the counter, the barista's eyes immediately flew to Blaine's toilet paper-clad arm, but at the warning look Blaine gave him, he smartly kept his mouth shut on the matter. "What can I get you?" he asked instead.

"A grande nonfat mocha for me, and a medium drip for this lovely gentleman here," Kurt spoke cheerfully.

Blaine's eyebrows rose at the compliment.

"I have a feeling I'm going to start asking if you two want the regular the next time you guys come in here," the barista joked.

Kurt laughed and nodded. "That is highly possible."

The barista smiled and accepted the money Kurt gave him. "Thank you." He put it in the cash register, smiling when Kurt told him to keep the change. "I'm Wes by the way."

"I'm Kurt, and this is Blaine," Kurt responded, leaning up against the counter as Wes went to prepare their drinks.

"Blaine, huh?" Wes said. "I knew a Blaine a long time ago…."

Kurt's eyebrows rose, and he turned to Blaine.

Blaine shrugged and looked back. "My name is Blaine. Blaine Anderson."

"Ah, that's it," Wes spoke, turning back to the pair. "What happened to you? I haven't seen you around since at least seven years ago. The last memory I have is a ten-year-old sitting on a swing."

Blaine fell silent. Hidden behind the solid counter, Kurt grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together. Blaine wasn't sure if that helped or just made his heart pound even louder. "Personal reasons," he finally said.

Wes tsked and slid Kurt's drink over to them. Kurt inclined his head and Wes smiled. "And what is there to know about you, Kurt?"

"Well, I'm a junior at McKinley High," he started. "I'm in the school's glee club."

Wes straightened up. "Really? I'm in a glee club at Dalton. We're the Warblers."

"Dalton?" Kurt inquired. "That's in Westerville, isn't it? What're you doing over here in Lima?"

"It's nice to get away," Wes answered. "Isn't that right, Blaine?"

Blaine tensed, and Kurt dropped his hand down to their sides again. "Yeah," Blaine answered, voice gravelly. "Definitely."

Wes frowned, forehead creasing, but didn't say anything. He set Blaine's drink in front of them. "Alright. I'll leave you two to it. Enjoy." He nodded again to the duo before pulling out a rag. He started to clean the counter as Kurt and Blaine went over to the corner where they sat yesterday.

"Blaine," Kurt started when they finally sat, but Blaine held up a hand.

"It's fine," he said. "Don't worry about it."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "And I think those are your two favorite phrases."

Blaine shrugged, taking a sip of his coffee. He set down the cup and looked at the same tree he looked at every time. The leaves had begun to fall off, and a lot of the branches were visible. The bark was gnarly and a gray-ish color. The trees behind it were much younger looking. His eyes raked over the different trees.

"Ninety-two," Kurt spoke up suddenly.

"What?" Blaine turned to look at him.

Kurt readjusted himself in the chair. "I think the tree is ninety-two. Yesterday, you asked me how old it was and if it knows it's going to die one day. I can't answer the second one, but I can give a good guess on the first."

Blaine stared at him.

Kurt squirmed uncomfortably at the lack of response. "Sorry. I wasn't entirely sure if they were rhetorical, and so at first I assumed that they were, but then I thought that they might not be, but it's clear now that I wasn't supposed to answer." He rambled on before a genuine smile took over Blaine's face. That caused Kurt to close his mouth.

"I had guessed ninety-five," Blaine's voice was soft.

Kurt blushed and looked down at his lap. "Oh."

Blaine nodded and continued to stare. "I wouldn't mind having this be the day's activity."

Kurt's head shot up, eyes wide. "Oh, I, um, is that good? I just, thank you. Right?"

The same smile rested on Blaine's face as Kurt was set off into another ramble. "It's great, Kurt."

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any characters that seem to be associated with the television series _Glee_ belong to the show's producers, directors and the actors portraying the characters. (Mainly Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, portrayed by Chris Colfer and Darren Criss.)

Did this chapter seem rushed to any of you? It seemed kind of rushed to me.

I like how this turned out, but I don't know if it's in the right spot. I just wanted to bring out the more determined and persistent parts of Kurt that I feel I was hiding. I can understand altering Blaine's character due to the plot of the story, but I'm not changing Kurt.

And now is the time to admit that I actually wrote part of this last night and part of it this morning. I was so tired last night, and I actually wrote the beginning of the author's note half-way asleep. It was a mess, so I went back to the document I had saved and wrote more of the story. I then erased what I had here, and copied and pasted the completed document.

Tl;dr I shouldn't write when I'm about to collapse from exhaustion. Anyways, have a great rest of the day or night, etc. Thank you for reading! xx

Emma Wants a Warbler


	4. Chapter 4

**Eighteen Again**

 _Chapter Four_

Due to Kurt's complete lack of a plan for that first day, the two ended up lazing around the cafe. Wes didn't seem to mind, luckily enough. He had told them as they left that as long as they didn't bother anyone they could practically live there.

When school finally rolled around, Blaine exited his crappy abode to see Kurt, bouncing anxiously on his heels from where he stood on the other side of the road. It took everything in Blaine not to roll his eyes. He strode over to Kurt, hands buried deep in his pockets. "What are you? My escort?"

Kurt's gaze innocently landed on a tree down the road. "What ever do you mean?" He finally looked at Blaine. "Eighteen days. It's a thing now."

"A thing?"

"Yes—a thing."

When they arrived at the school, it took Blaine much longer than it should to remember all of his classes. Kurt didn't appear remotely apologetic when he rolled his eyes and scoffed. Eventually, Blaine remembered his necessary academic courses, and Kurt said to just skip whatever elective he had and go to glee with him. Blaine wasn't remotely apologetic when he made a vomiting gesture to Kurt.

"That's what you get for giving me this chance," Kurt loftily retorted, "not that I'm ungrateful."

Blaine sighed and nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Let's just go."

Kurt barked a laugh. "It's just a few classes, Blaine. Nothing that'll leave lasting damage."

Blaine pretended he didn't see Kurt's eyes drift to his arm.

His teachers were shocked when Blaine stumbled into his classes, each of them greeted with some explicative. They didn't stop him because he actually showed up, but he saw the way they would stiffen and a frown would appear. In all of them, he sat, lax and bored, in the back of the classroom, eyes drifting from pathetic face to pathetic face before landing back on the board where the generic font that all teachers had spread across it along with crude drawings that every teacher drew before proclaiming that they "weren't an artist." No _fucking_ way.

Glee arrived quicker than Blaine thought it would, and he didn't have much of a choice but do as Kurt told him and sit where Kurt made him. He had to listen to insufferable Nose Girl and Teen Giant sing stupid love songs to each other, and he speculated the look of happiness and pride in Kurt's eyes when a black girl with surprisingly stunning vocals took over. What was the most shocking, however, was when Kurt stood and took Blaine's hand in a death grip, yanking him out of his seat and guiding him to the front of the room.

"This is Blaine," Kurt said, voice ringing and clear. "He'll be with us for the next week or so." When Blaine opened his mouth to complain, Kurt squeezed his hand even tighter, mouthing a harsh, "eighteen days," to him. He smiled back at the room when Blaine huffed but nodded. "And I've prepared a song for him."

Oh.

Blaine was perfectly ready to end this eighteen days thing now, but then Kurt was shoving him into an empty chair in the front of row, and his cerulean eyes practically glowed with determination. "Now," Kurt said after stepping away from Blaine, "this isn't normally my song style or choice, but it's started to hold a lot of meaning."

"Kurt, you really should've thought this through," Blaine could feel the fear and anxiety building up in him, and he just wanted to leave. "I don't want a song."

"But, Blaine," Kurt's eyes were wide, "you promised."

"I promised you days, Kurt," Blaine's voice was firm, but he knew it would break, "not actions. I never promised to stay."

"Blaine," Kurt sounded small, "let me do this."

Everyone else in the room was silent, even Mr Stuck in the Eighties. All eyes were on him. He sighed. "Just this one time."

Kurt's eyes widened as a smile found its home on his lips. "Thank you." He focused back on the other students. "This isn't my usual, but it holds just as much meaning as my usual would." He closed his eyes, and his voice was soft when he began to sing: "He wakes up early today, throws on a mask that will alter his face…."

Blaine's breath caught in his throat, and he knew he probably would start to look like a tomato soon. He could feel heat creeping up his neck as Kurt continued. "He pretends that he's okay, but you should see, oh, him in bed, late at night," his eyes met Blaine's suddenly, and it was as if he had been punched, "he's petrified."

Kurt's voice crescendoed. "Take me out, and finish this waste of a life!" His shoulders shook the tiniest bit, and it reflected in his singing as he carried on: "Everyone gather around for a show. Watch as this man disappears as we know. Do me a favor and try to ignore as you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor."

Blaine wouldn't—he couldn't show emotion. At least not in front of the glee clubbers whom he hardly knew. But Kurt persevered, and he practically trembled as he sang, "nothing kills a man faster than his own head." Blaine knew this song would be stuck with him until the end of his days. Hazel met glasz, and Blaine was locked in place, staring at Kurt as the countertenor continued. "He used to see dreams at night, but now he's just watching the backs of his eyes. And he pretends that he's okay," at this, Kurt walked towards Blaine and placed a consoling hand on his shoulder, "but you should see him in bed, late at night." He leaned closer. "He's petrified."

Blaine was definitely shaking now. It wasn't Kurt's little tremors as he poured his emotion into the song. Blaine had nothing to focus on but the words and Kurt's voice. He had to face his emotions. He wanted to scream, and he was grateful to hear the quieter ending: "Everyone gather around for a show. Watch as this man disappears as we know. Do me a favor and try to ignore when you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor."

Kurt paused suddenly to take a quiet breath. "'Cause nobody knows he's alive."

Then Blaine ran.

He heard a startled shout from Kurt behind him as a set of rapid footsteps joined his, and he heard the sudden chaos that took over the glee club, but neither of those stopped him. He just kept running. He had to get out of there. Everything was too confining. If he hadn't been claustrophobic, or if he hadn't known, he was sure of it now.

He thought he had left Kurt and the club behind, but then there was a strong hand gripping his shoulder, and a tired voice in his ear: "Please stop running."

There was a part of him that wanted to fight, a part of Blaine that wanted to rip Kurt's hand off of his shoulder and yell at him to fuck off, to leave him alone for the rest of time, to disappear and not come back, but instead he collapsed. He slowly and shakily got on his knees and just collapsed. His breathing was ragged and torn, and a cough or two fell past his lips. He felt kind of gross just laying there on the floor like that, but he knew if he tried to stand he's probably faint or vomit or something a bit too ridiculous for him to handle. He felt Kurt's hand, warm and soothing, rub up and down his back, and he could hear soft humming come from the teen too. He closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. "I'm sorry," came out before he could stop himself; though, his voice was muffled by his hands and Kurt didn't speak or acknowledge the apology in anyways.

Or Blaine thought he hadn't, but then the rubbing stuttered, and there was a twitch in Kurt's hand. A soft, "What for?" sounded in the hallway.

Blaine shrugged despite the slight aching in his shoulders. "Running away, agreeing to your stupid eighteen days, coming to school, existing. A lot of things."

There was some rustling, and then a knee brushed his cheek, and Blaine deduced that Kurt had taken a careful seat next to him. "You'd be dead today, you know."

That made Blaine look at Kurt. Except he only got a face full of knee. He groaned and sat up properly, imitating Kurt's crossed legs. "Yes, I would be. I still could end up dead today too."

Kurt's breathing hitched before he nodded. "I never thought about the rest of today. Are you going to … do it?"

Blaine stared intently at the other boy. He inspected the long and dark shadows that fell on Kurt's face caused by his lashes, and he studied the pink hue of his lips and how soft and velvety they looked, and he inquired the milky and smooth paleness of his skin, and when Kurt turned to meet his gaze, he searched the deep teal depths better known as Kurt's eyes. When he broke the connection, the concept of breathing came back to him. His eyes stayed locked on a locker down the hall when he answered. "I don't know."

The same warm hand that's been starting to follow him covered his own. He looked back at Kurt again. Kurt didn't seem that expressive, but Blaine suddenly knew every emotion in those eyes. Fear being a large one. "Please don't," Kurt whispered, and, not that he would ever admit it, those words spoken from that person got the gears turning in Blaine's head and made him start actually questioning whether offing himself was really worth it.

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any characters that seem to be associated with the television series _Glee_ belong to the show's producers, directors and the actors portraying the characters. (Mainly Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, portrayed by Chris Colfer and Darren Criss.) The song used in this is "Trapdoor" by the band twenty one pilots from their 2009 self-titled album, twenty one pilots. It belongs solely to Tyler Joseph, Chris Salih, and Nick Thomas.

Not disclaimer but still sort of pertaining to it: No, Chris and Nick aren't in the band anymore. Josh Dun is. And Josh Dun is the Josh Sun.

Okay, it's not that the last chapter seemed rush; I just felt like the ending was abrupt and a bit weird. I'm not going to fix it unless I do a rewrite, but...

Right, so this chapter is not my favorite at all. It seemed rushed, choppy, and generally poorly written, but I hope it's good enough to hold everyone over until chapter five. I will say that this was pretty much written right before it's upload, with very little revising and editing done. Yeah. Definitely not the best chapter. But I hope you all enjoy it, and I will try—TRY—to begin chapter five ASAP.

Thank you all for your patience, and I hope you all had a good weekend! xx

Emma Wants a Warbler


	5. Chapter 5

**Eighteen Again**

 _Chapter Five_

Even though he knew something was different as soon as Kurt said those two words, Blaine remained stoic. Shakily, he stood, rolling his shoulders back, eyes locked on Kurt who was straightening his back and glancing around the empty hall. "What is it?" he asked. "Clearly you aren't ashamed to be seen with me or anything."

"It's better," Kurt answered, voice breathy, once he finished his scan for whatever, "for you. If anyone actually saw you with me outside of required school hours … Blaine, there's a reason they're so mean to us. If they see us interact, the two gays, it'd be worse than it already is."

Blaine shook his head, a dry laugh erupting from his lips. "Kurt, do you think I don't know that? That's why I don't show up in general. And, really, what's the worst they can do? They can't whip out their fists that quick."

"Blaine, it doesn't matter if it's a slushy to the face or a fist; the teachers don't care about us. Now," his shoulders sagged, which was truly a strange thing: to see the Great Kurt Hummel slumping in defeat. It left a bitter taste in Blaine's mouth as Kurt continued, "I really don't want to argue right now. I'm sure you're already mad at me. And you have good reason to be," Kurt added, causing Blaine to freeze in shock. "I shouldn't have done that. I practically gave away all your secrets."

In a surprising act of sort-of kindness, Blaine gave a tight smile and nudged Kurt's shoulder with his own. "I wouldn't say _all_ of them."

A soft laugh came from Kurt, who was staring at Blaine with bright blue eyes. "Right. But I was still out of line."

Blaine shrugged. "I'm sure I'll find some way to make you pay for it. Maybe you can see my life up close. Just make sure you understand what I mean when I say 'duck.'" Kurt didn't laugh this time, however. No. His hopeful look was now a stricken one. Blaine backtracked. "Or maybe we can go to the cafe again? Safe territory, safe topic." Hesitantly, Kurt nodded, and Blaine gave another tight-lipped smile. "Great. Maybe I'll be a bit more social with Wes this time. That's progress."

The tension slowly left Kurt at Blaine's words. "Progress."

Blaine nodded and looked at the doors allowing exit. "Want to get out of here?"

Kurt leaned back on his heels and released a soft breath of reluctance before shrugging and gave Blaine a small smile, eyes light with something akin to excitement. "Sure."

The walk to the coffee shop was quiet, but Blaine stopped them when they reached the entrance. "I'm sure you have a car … why do you walk with me?"

"Forced interaction," Kurt answered after a pause.

Blaine took a moment to ponder the other's response. "Oh," was all he could say.

Kurt smiled softly before pushing open the door. Blaine followed him into the cafe, eyes flicking over to the counter. There was Wes, cleaning some mugs. "You sure do clean those mugs a lot," Kurt joked causing Wes to look up. He smiled when he saw who it was.

"It gets busy sometimes, and it's always good to have clean materials."

"As long as my coffee doesn't taste like soap, I'm pretty sure you're need for clean won't be a problem," Blaine quipped. That made Kurt freeze before smiling brightly at Blaine.

"Same here," he added as he headed over to the counter. "The usual please."

Blaine took his seat by the window, turning to look at the tree. He stared at it; the ugly knots in its side made it bend slightly, and its leafless branches swayed in the wind. He blinked before turning to look back at Kurt and Wes. Kurt was laughing at something Wes said, blue eyes shining in the soft light of the shop. Wes was focused on making them their drinks, but he still chatted about whatever it was they were discussing. Kurt would nod, and his lips would pull back into a smile, and then he would respond and turn to look at Blaine before talking to Wes some more. Blaine was still staring at Kurt when he sat down across from him, placing a steaming medium drip in front of him but clutching his own nonfat mocha in his pale hands. Blaine nodded his thanks and picked up the drink, bringing it to his lips.

This time Kurt's eyes were on him. "You weren't tree-watching today."

Blaine looked up at the other boy through his lashes before glancing at the tree. "It's doing okay. I looked at it when we came in."

"No deep questions about it this time?"

Blaine shrugged and put the mug down. "Not today."

Kurt glanced out the window himself before looking back at Blaine, a smile on his face. "So tomorrow I really hope you don't have plans for after school."

This cued an eyebrow raise from Blaine. "Oh really? And what will we be doing?"

An excited glint shone in Kurt's eyes, and he leaned forward slightly in his chair. "Well, you see, that's a surprise. Which you should've known." His lips curled at the corners up into a mischievous smile.

Blaine took another sip from his medium drip. He made a noise of acknowledgement as he drank before setting the cup down and crossing his ankles. "I do know, but I thought maybe you'd be a bit more pliant in telling me."

Kurt rolled his eyes and cradled his drink closer to him. "Not happening."

Blaine merely smiled.

After finishing their drinks, they stood, satisfied smiles on their lips. Not many words had been shared between them as they sat and sipped, but there was a nice sense of comfort and familiarity between the two. Kurt stretched, exposing his long, pale neck to Blaine and making the curve of his back and back _side_ more prominent. "I should go." He turned to face Blaine with a warm look in his eyes. Blaine wondered what the emotion was.

At Kurt's silence, Blaine realized he waiting for him to answer. "Oh," he said dumbly, "yeah, you should. Still have homework and stuff, I guess."

Kurt laughed. "No need to get awkward now. Um…," he suddenly looked hesitant and nervous, "do you maybe want to …. maybe you could possibly … would you by any chance want to," he swallowed, eyes darting from place to place, before Blaine grabbed his hand.

The action startled Blaine just as much as it startled Kurt. He wasn't one to just grab people's hands. But he didn't let go. Instead he gripped it tighter and gave the other teen a reassuring smile. "Hey, it's fine. You don't have to ask."

Kurt shook his head. "No, I'm asking." His expression turned determined. "Come over. To my house," he added, voice quick, eyes wide.

Blaine's eyes widened also. "Really?"

Kurt nodded, eyes closing. "Yes. Come over."

Blaine hesitated, thinking about his father. There was a strong chance he'd be asleep by the time Blaine would get home from Kurt's, but he could still be awake. Then again, Blaine could handle practically anything his father threw at him. He agreed to Kurt's proposal. "I'll go."

A smile blossomed on the other's face. "Thank you!"

Blaine smiled too, but the genuineness of it was minimal. "Yeah."

Kurt moved to make his way out of the shop. That's when Blaine realized their hands were still connected. Quickly, he dropped Kurt's hand. He pretended not to notice the negative change in Kurt's demeanor after he did so and followed him out the door.

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER:** Any characters that seem to be associated with the television series _Glee_ belong to the show's producers, directors and the actors portraying the characters. (Mainly Kurt Hummel and Blaine Anderson, portrayed by Chris Colfer and Darren Criss.)

Sometimes I wish I could write longer chapters, but then I remember that if I were to do a rewrite after finishing the fic, I could easily join two chapters together. Good-but-also-bad-news for upcoming chapter: we're getting some Burt-Blaine interaction! This chapter was pretty "fluffy" in terms of no fighting between Klaine, but I was kind of getting sick of their drama queenliness. It's really exhausting to write when the fights start getting repetitive. I mean, it's like ... I don't know, Kurt is cheerful, Blaine is moody AF, Kurt says something, Blaine snaps at him, Kurt snaps back, fight happens, then they "make up" and go to the cafe. I don't know, I just want to change that pattern. I don't know. Ranting about my own writing that I could EASILY CHANGE is kind of dumb, but it's also relaxing.

Anyways, I hope you all had a good Saturday! xx

Emma Wants a Warbler


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